


Minute Man

by Ladycat



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Control Issues, Dom/sub, Establish Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-03
Updated: 2011-06-03
Packaged: 2017-10-20 02:05:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/207630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladycat/pseuds/Ladycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike has needs that Xander is not thrilled fulfilling.  So he makes sure he fills his own needs as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Minute Man

Like Spike, who after weeks and months of talking and begging and cajoling and reasoning and finally just flat out  _asking_  gets what he wants.  He’s chained up on the bed, completely helpless and almost totally immobile.  Xander’s not really thrilled about it, but he can’t help going to work in the morning half-hard.  Because Spike’s so  _gorgeous_ , laid out and prepared and yearning, focused on one thing and one thing only—Xander.

Xander knows he doesn’t get it.  He sees the degradation, forcing Spike into the role of object instead of the role as lover.  But Spike’s asked, and he obliges, and by noon he’s so hard he’s afraid that he’s going to do himself injury.  So he  _flies_  home on wheels made fast from pheremones and runs up the stairs.  And Spike’s exactly where he was left—tied down, blinded, open and slick and gasping from the smell of Xander in the room.

He takes Spike fast, then.  There’s no foreplay, none of the teasing touches and bites they love to indulge in.  Just a fast strip and a pillow shoved under Spike’s hips, and Xander inside.  Fucking.  Banging away, quick jackhammer strokes of power and possession and other ‘p’ sounding words Xander can’t think of because Spike is so fucking tight, so fucking  _willing_ , despite the illusion of no willingness at all.  Xander fucks and fucks until he’s coming, staring down at Spike’s drooling cock.  He wants to touch it, jack it while he comes deep within, but Spike’s made some requests and this is really about Spike.  Not him.

That doesn’t explain why he’s forcing himself into Spike’s mouth not ten minutes later.  But Spike doesn’t seem to mind, sucking him as ardently as Xander loves.  His second orgasm leaves him limp, legs twitching with the need to collapse, but he’s good.  Goes back to work and ignores the sidelong looks and the cracks, because dammit, he just came  _twice_  into the hottest creature these guys have ever had the pleasure to never fuck.  And damn if that doesn’t make him the luckiest ever, because Spike  _wants_  it.  For these guys, who aren’t good or bad or monstrous, just normal guys, the chance to have a Spike would blow each of their fantasies into the harsh light of reality—

And it’s Xander who knows how destructive those fantasies are.  Women’s rights, women’s lib, respect and equality, none of those things are an issue when you have a horny, hierarchical, kinky vampire claiming to be your pet, and could he please wear a collar next?  They’d get jaded and take and  _have_  without a second thought, not because they were bad, but because they were men and thought with their cocks and that’s what their cocks  _wanted_.

Xander wants it too.  It’s just that being given it. . . makes you want it less.

He doesn’t stop, though, because it’s unbelievably hot and he knows that to Spike, it isn’t a show of superiority.  It’s a show of affection.  And Xander’s a damned fool that fell in love with the contradiction of what he should, and he’ll do anything, including cater towards the darker side of him and his lover both, because his lover needs it and Xander. . . might need it too.  Because there are reasons the walking contradictions fell in love with each other.

Spike stays chained up for almost a week, used and (lovingly) abused and covered by his lover in every imaginable way.  His skin is tacky with dried come, hair in complete disarray, lingering strings of dried blood twisted with bruises on the bumpy mural of his body and he’s so fucking happy he’s  _purring_ , or something damned close to it.

It’s Saturday, and Xander doesn’t want to stop the game, but he does need to call a small recess.  He undoes the pouting vampire’s chains and then stops to consider.  He knows exactly what Spike’s after, and maybe there’s a way to give it to him without the physical necessities.  So he deepens his voice and forces himself to look away and do other things while he orders his property to go to the bathroom and clean himself up, because nothing of Xander’s should stink.

Spike falls onto hands and knees and  _scurries_  into the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later, Spike finds him seated in front of the tv.  He still hasn’t risen to walk on his legs alone, and Xander has to admit how incredibly hot it is to see that long, pale skin flex and strut solely for him.  Spike’s walking on his knuckles to make his biceps bulge, a trick Xander recognizes  _as_  a trick but can’t look away from.  He settles between Xander’s thighs and looks up for a brief moment.

Xander knows it’s a request.  Knows what it’s for and why but there are certain games Xander  _won’t_  play.  This is Spike’s choice or not at all and while Xander isn’t quite the blameless victim here, he isn’t the instigator and he needs not to be for his own peace of mind.  Not yet, anyway.

And Spike knows all this, the way he always knows and drops his question along with his mouth, right onto Xander’s half-hard cock.  One long, slow, leisurely blow-job later, Xander’s still in front of the tv, completely boneless and sated, carding the cotton ball fluff that’s Spike’s hair ungeled while Spike sits at his feet.  It’s domestic and cozy, if Spike were a dog instead of a hu—thinking creature.

That reminds Xander that while Spike gets a ton of pleasure out of being used, there are other uses that Xander hasn’t explored yet.  He’s been reluctant to try them, still is, but Spike’s dropped hints in the past and Xander’s got time to try them and then clean up the mess, if there is one.  So he persuades Spike to join him on the sofa, spreading his legs so Spike can scrunch down in between them and tuck his head into the curve of Xander’s neck and shoulder.  All it needs is the ‘daddy’ Xander knows will pop up later, so he seeks to forestall that.

Spike doesn’t object as his legs are shifted so Xander has the perfect angle for what he wants.  And what he wants is to lay his hand in his own lap, which happens to be Spike, at the moment, and insert unlubed fingers into a still-sopping hole and start finger-fucking.  Spike  _squeaks_  at the intrusion and starts shaking so hard Xander has to order him not to come.  It’s the limit Spike needs, and his body stops trembling and relaxes into Xander’s control.  His eyes continue to roll, though, flashes of excitement Xander feels through the pressure on his neck and can envision clearly from memory.

Xander fucks him that way until Spike is panting harshly against his skin and Xander's hand is starting to ache.  They’ve shifted positions several times and right then Spike is face-down over his lap, arse rolling in the slow, teasing rhythm Xander prefers.  He’s petting Spike’s head again and enjoying the rumbling purrs that vibrate over his left leg.

Back in the bedroom, Xander offers to rechain Spike, if he wants.  Spike doesn’t reply one way or the other, kneeling in the center of the bedroom, still naked, cock hard and red and painful looking while he waits for Xander.  He won’t answer, but Xander can read the subtle tensing of his shoulders when he gets frustrated and snaps out a command.  And Xander immediately packs away the chains and gives Spike what he wants.

Saturday, and Xander’s pretty sure he’s going to be sore and raw by Monday morning, unable to get it up for weeks.  But it’s not Monday yet, and Spike’s soft wake-up suckling is making Xander grin with goofy, sleepy pleasure.  Spike’s so orally fixated that Xander dazedly wonders if it’s possible to be blow-jobbed out.  But then Spike does the twist with his tongue that makes Xander see stars and his question is most fervently answered.  Spike caters to his every whim, washing him in the shower, cooking his breakfast and cleaning it up afterwards.  Xander watches him for a moment, still naked and magnificent, and hopes he’s getting his ideas right.

He doesn’t give Spike any warning, just shoves Spikes upper body down over the sink and slams his cock inside.  Spike makes another  _eeping_  noise and then rolls his hips encouragingly.  Xander tightens his grip on Spike's neck, barking an order to stay  _still_  dammit, and fucks without any care or consideration.  This is  _taking_  using Spike to get off without regard to what Spike is doing or what Spike wants.  It gets Xander so hot he’s almost tender to the touch and Spike’s cock is slowly turning purple under the onslaught.

Xander continues the theme all weekend.  Whenever he’s horny—or, really, whenever he thinks  _Spike_  is horny, which is always—he stops Spike from doing whatever he’s doing and takes him.  He takes Spike’s ass, Spike’s mouth, hell, Xander will take the book right out of Spike’s hand and wrap it around his, Xander’s, cock if that’s what Xander feels like he wants.  Spike’s eyes are totally vacant by Sunday evening, his body so soaked with Xander’s come that he’s  _white_  instead of pale cream and smells of saturated salt.  He’s made Spike say all the dirty things he can think of, ‘daddy’ and ‘master’ being the nicer ones, and Xander’s talked so much his throat is dry.

And then it’s Sunday evening and sure enough, Xander’s cock is wrung limp and painful from the constant fucking and Spike’s starting to forget this is just a role he’s playing, a temporary way to assuage the pressures he’s feeling inside.  Part of Xander, the one that hangs out with construction workers to drink beer and ogle girls he isn’t even interested in but can’t stop _looking_  at, doesn’t want it to stop.  He loves it, the taking, the assurance that Spike won’t gainsay him, whatever Xander wants to do.

Except, Spike wouldn’t anyway.  Not when it comes to sex, anyway, and what they have isn’t just about the amazing orgasms they give each other.  It’s about caring and affection; and sometimes the vampire forgets he's half man, and it’s up to Xander to remind him.

He straps Spike down on the bed, grinning lustily at Spike’s bleary look of welcome.  The poor vampire is almost as exhausted as Xander, who used plenty of toys when his own cock cried foul, making sure he did  _anything_  he’d ever heard Spike ever once mention or look at with interest.  Spike’s hips swing up when Xander straddles him, offering himself to the man he loves, giving completely and it makes Xander’s heart swell and want to crack when he sees that it isn’t just about the giving—it’s the giving to  _Xander_.

So it’s time Xander gave back.

He’s already prepared so he just shifts his weight up higher on Spike’s chest and settles himself back down.  Spike’s eyes go wide and his mouth moves, soundless words threatening to fill a cock too painful to fill again.  So Xander says, “Shut up,” and Spike instantly subsides.  “You gave me complete access,” he says soft and low and persuasive.  “To every part of you.  Even this one.”  And he squeezes buttock muscles honed through much usage and Spike  _twitches_  gasping.  He knows how badly Spike wants to come, but part of Spike’s problem is he forgets that when he gives his mouth and ass and fingers, clever mind, and overfull heart, he gives his cock and his come over as well.

Xander rides him for as long as his own sex-riddled body allows, working Spike into a frenzy because he knows how much this bothers Spike.  Spike likes to be the active one.  Not because Xander’s not good with his dick, but because Spike likes to  _create_  the pleasure.  He loves to let Xander lay down, cock hard and slick and perfect for Spike to slide down on to love with his body until Xander offers physical proof.  He’ll ride Xander every chance he gets and never once requests reciprocity.

When his body starts to give out, Xander grinds down hard and whispers, “I love you.”  It’s the most compelling command Xander knows and it works every time.  Spike gasps and jerks, muscles cramping down tight as he pours body and blood, brain and the soul he doesn’t have into Xander’s body.

When they wake the next morning, they’re wrapped around each other so tightly Xander’s afraid he won’t get free to go to the bathroom in time.  But he does, and he grabs the phone on the way back to the bed, allowing Spike to re-pretzel them.  Spike’s peppering kisses onto his chest, whispering the words he hardly ever say with his voice when Xander finally gets through to his boss.

He’s calling in sick.  Because Spike isn’t an object, or a toy, or even a puppy no matter how often he acts like one.  He’s Xander’s lover.  And that lover needs cuddling.


End file.
